


birth of a wish

by whimsofffate



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Car Accidents, Friends to Lovers, Groundhog Day, M/M, Poor Prompto, Prompto is very determined, There's a lot of that, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsofffate/pseuds/whimsofffate
Summary: He doesn’t recall his legs kicking into adrenaline-fueled movement, only that they do. When he drops onto his knees for a second time, the arm he extends doesn’t really seem to be his. When he shakily tries to pull dark hair from the forehead, his fingers come away dark and sticky.“Hey, buddy?” he manages to croak. “Noct? Hey, this isn’t funny. Please. Cut it out, dude.”Noct’s blue eyes stare back at him, devoid of all the warmth that had been there just moments ago.(( alternatively; the one where Prompto singlehandedly defies all the odds thrown at him. ))





	birth of a wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yitamin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yitamin/gifts).



> this is a gift for my dear friend [minnaroll](http://minnaroll.tumblr.com), as part of a celebratory ficswap my friends and I held after our January exams. She put down Promptis, friends to lovers and time travel in her wishlist, and I was happy to deliver. :>
> 
> ... she also requested Cambridge Latin Course fic, but I don't think I'm ready to write about Caecilius and his horto just yet.
> 
> I listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdzM8R_vQWY) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=js3CbJVrHbk) for most of the fic, and then [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2scO50AP6U) for the 'endgame'. I was in a Fire Emblem mood, and these songs are all beautiful! (I especially think that the last one just screams 'determination'. It's great.)
> 
> Title comes from [the Nier: Automata OST of the same name.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHDgVvr3IkU) While it has nothing to do with this fic, it's a GREAT SONG, and I highly recommend you check it out! with this, you, too, will Become as Gods
> 
> also, I recommend you use headphones for the YouTube videos, but at a moderate volume... you'll see why. **EDIT: SERIOUSLY GUYS, PLEASE. I'M BEGGING YOU. DO NOT PLAY THEM AT MAX VOLUME, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY**
> 
> Enjoy!

“There is freedom waiting for you,

On the breezes of the sky,

And you ask "What if I fall?"

Oh but my darling,

What if you fly?”

― **Erin Hanson**

 

“I can’t believe they’re forcing me into this.” Noct grumbles, scooping the whipped cream off his hot chocolate with a frown.

"Aw, cheer up, buddy. It can’t be _that_ bad!” Prompto grins, mischievous. “It's not like I'm going to be under the covers at home, playing Persona 5, while you freeze your ass off in that ballroom, y’know?”

He laughs, loud and open, when Noct starts to glare at him over the rim of his mug, like some sort of ruffled cat.

Prompto knows that Noct isn’t really mad at him, but he does know that Noct is definitely mad about the whole, party-at-the-Citadel thing he’d been cajoled into attending this evening. Prompto also knows that the only reason the Prince had agreed to it in the first place was because of the paperwork he’d been excused from - courtesy of Ignis - so he could go on a coffee date beforehand with Prompto.

_A coffee meet-up, more like,_ Prompto corrects hastily, because they’re not dating.

“Still,” Noct sighs, “I wish I didn’t have to. It’ll be the same as all the others.”

“What, the ones where you stand by the food table for the whole thing? Or the ones where you beg Gladio to sneak you out halfway through?”

“ _Shut it,”_ Noct growls, pointing his biscuit threateningly at a grinning Prompto. His voice is warm, though. “And anyway, I wanted to tell you something, but it’s gonna have to be back at my apartment.”

“Really?” Prompto’s genuinely curious, now.“What’s so important?”

“What did I just _say,_ you dolt?” the prince huffs, lightly kicking the blonde’s legs under the table, before standing up and offering him a hand. “Let’s go to mine, and I’ll tell you there.”

Noct’s being weirdly elusive, but Prompto smiles anyway. “Sure,” he answers, taking Noct’s hand and relishing in the warmth that it offers.  He ignores the way his heart thuds traitorously - as it’s been doing for the past two years, now - and instead focuses on his own footsteps as he’s gently tugged out of the shop and onto the pavement.

 

 

****  
  
The sun’s barely peeking out from behind a thick canopy of clouds, instead opting to leave Insomnia with a dusting of frost, decorating every surface Prompto can see. It also blankets the ground with a dangerous layer of ice - which is probably why Noct’s huddling so close to him right now.

“Would you look at that,” Noct murmurs, tipping his face back to gaze at the sky. Intrigued, Prompto follows suit - he knows that Noct’s an astrology buff, but he swears it’s still daytime, so what could possibly be so- _oh._

He’s not looking at the stars.

Delicate, glittering flakes, no bigger than Prompto’s little finger, drift gently down from the heavens, coming to rest on top of the hardening ice. As Prompto watches, mouth hanging open, he swears they’re swirling in whirlpools, like the ones in those ocean documentaries he likes to watch.

One of the flakes flutters on top of his nose. Prompto goes cross-eyed so he can inspect it properly, but it’s already melted by the time he does that. Instead, he breaks into an face-splitting grin.

“Look, Noct! Snow!” he cheers, not caring that passers-by have begun to stare at his wild clapping. “When was the last time Insomnia had snow, dude? Like, three years ago?”

“Mhm.” Noct says, sounding a little dreamy, but that’s obvious, Prompto thinks. If he weren’t so excited, he’d probably be sounding like a starstruck lover, too.

“Aw, man, this is _great!”_ Prompto continues to grin, even managing to skip a little on his feet. “When’s the last time we got to build a snowman? D’you think Gladio and Iggy’ll come sledding with us, Noct? Noct?”

When Noct doesn’t respond, Prompto turns around, a quizzical look on his face. He half-expects Noct to have spaced out during his excited outburst - he’s Noctis, the prince of naps, after all.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Noct to be gazing at him with a _look_ in his eyes. He’s never seen that one before, and it’s enough to fluster Prompto to no end.

“Uh, buddy? Noct? Noctis? Eos to Noctis?” Prompto tries, flapping his hands in front of the other boy’s face. He feels a little awkward, but also a little pleased, and he’s sure that his face feels hot to the touch right now.

It takes a few snaps of his fingers before Noct jerks out of his stupor.

“Wha-?” His face becomes a blur as he shakes his head, sporting a befuddled expression, before it quickly switches to a much smoother one. “Oh, yeah. The snow. Thought you might like it.”

“‘Course I do! Wish I brought my camera, though…”

“I've got your spare at the apartment, it's fine.”

“You do? Ah, you're the best, buddy. Should really tell you that more often.”

“Yeah, you should. All the things I do for you, and yet I never receive a word of gratitude…”

Prompto pokes the prince, as said prince clutches at his chest with mock despair. They laugh at each other, and then some when Prompto mimes trying to heal Noct’s broken heart.

It's these moments, Prompto thinks, that he wouldn't mind stretching on for a little while longer yet.

Realistically, he knows it won’t happen. Noct’s increasingly spending more time at the Citadel, and Prompto’s due to start attending university in the autumn. However much Noct reassures him that, yes, they’ll see each other as often as they can, Prompto knows that it probably won't be the case.

Prompto knows that the days he spends with Noct now are the best days he's going to get for a long while. He knows he’ll have to treasure these moments; cherish them like the memories he keeps folded in his photo albums under the mattress, wrinkled and worn from being smoothed over with his fingers, time and time again.

Prompto knows that Noct’s unlikely to return his feelings. Even if he did reciprocate them, there’s a whole load of obstacles they’ll have to battle through before anything even gets _approved_ \- and then there’s the whole ‘continuation of the Lucian line’ thing that has to be kept in mind, all the time _._ He’s long past the bottled resentment he used to feel, though, and he’s resolved for a very long time now to keep those feelings locked away, so he can continue to support Noct however he can.

Even if he's still nursing a broken heart.

Well. It's not _broken_ , per se, because Noct hasn’t really broken his heart. The beginnings of the cracks are there, though, shoddily mended at their sharp edges from where Prompto’s attempted to suppress his feelings.

“Look who’s spacing out now,” Noct smirks, his voice cutting through Prompto’s musings with startling clarity.

Prompto opts to waggle his eyebrows, maintaining the same neutral expression, which draws a snort out of the other.

“You look ridiculous,” Noct huffs, affectionate, before pulling him towards the crossing. “C’mon.”

Prompto lets himself be pulled towards the kerb, hopping from one leg to the other in an effort to keep warm. Noct’s teeth start clacking together, an amusing action he doesn't hesitate to point out.

“Aw, look at that! His Highness is _cold!_ His teeth just can't stop chattering!”

“At least I'm not the one who looks like they're about to have an accident, am I?” Noct shoots back. He grins widely when Prompto immediately stills his legs.

“Whatever, man. At least my teeth don't _chatter_.”

“Not like I can control it, Prom. Anyway, can we cross? It's not like there are any cars here.”

“The _green man,_ Noct, you gotta wait for the _green man!”_

“Eh, at this rate the green man’ll show up when I get to the throne. Let’s just go already, c’mon.”

Prompto lets himself be tugged along again, except this time there’s a vague warning pulsing incessantly in his head. The traffic lights still blaze an obnoxious green colour, and cars are still rounding the corner and whipping past them on the road.

There haven’t been any for some time, though, and the green man really is taking a hell of a long time to show up. So Prompto decides to dismiss that nagging voice, and steps up to the kerb, next to Noct.

“Wait a bit,” Noct mutters, his breath billowing out into a little cloud. “Let this one pass, and then we’ll go... all right, now!”

They walk briskly as soon as the black truck whooshes past. The snow continues to fall, steadily growing thicker and thicker, and obscuring much of their vision. The two of them are the only ones on the road, and Prompto notes that it’s eerily quiet.

He leans in to Noct’s side, fully intending to whisper a request to quickly nip into the department store and snag a pair of gloves, when a piece of paper flutters out of his very-open pocket. Prompto recognises it as his appointment letter, which is one of the things he can’t really leave on a wet floor for so long.

“Damn,” he mumbles.The prince makes a confused noise as Prompto scurries forward to retrieve the thing.

He kneels down on one knee, wincing at the added discomfort from his too-tight jeans. Carefully, he peels the soggy paper off of the concrete, and tries to shake the water out as best as he can.

While distracted, he doesn’t take notice of the rumbling sound in the distance, and how it seems to be creeping up notches in volume with every second that passes.

“Finally!” Prompto smiles, folding the paper up and tucking it neatly away in his pocket. “Sorry that took so long, I-”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, because someone screams, a harrowing and bloodcurdling sound. Tyres screech on the asphalt, before the screaming is abruptly cut off. A horrific _thud_ replaces it.

Prompto freezes mid-motion. Time screeches to halt - something he thought would only ever happen in those awful horror movies he and Noct used to watch. In front of him, a snowflake drifts across his face, but it’s painstakingly slow.

His limbs start to shake, like the leaves of the sycamore tree in his garden when the wind’s particularly relentless. The feeling in his leg’s all gone, replaced by what seems like liquidised jelly. He tries to get up, to _move_ , to do _anything_ -

“Noct?” he croaks, craning his neck for a response, because it couldn’t be Noct’s voice that he just heard, otherwise, _otherwise-_

Eventually, Prompto staggers to his feet. The world swims, melding into amalgamations of different shapes and hues. He manages to turn around. Immediately, he wishes he didn’t.

The ground spins from underneath him as he remembers that there was only person wearing that specific customised Behemoth jacket, and that person is now lying, spread-eagled, in the middle of the road.

He doesn’t recall his legs kicking into adrenaline-fueled movement, only that they do. When he drops onto his knees for a second time, the arm he extends doesn’t really seem to be his. When he shakily tries to pull dark hair from the forehead, his fingers come away dark and sticky.

“Hey, buddy?” he manages to croak. “Noct? Hey, this isn’t funny. Please. Cut it out, dude.”

Noct’s blue eyes stare back at him, devoid of all the warmth that had been there just moments ago.

“Noct...” Prompto cradles one cheek, rapidly-cooling to the touch, desperately willing some life force, some warmth, _anything_ , back into his best friend, because he’s not, _he’s not-_

He’s not dead. He can’t be, because he’s Noctis Lucis Caelum, he’s Prompto’s best friend, _and he can’t be dead._

“Noct!” Prompto cries again. He places his mouth inches next to Noct’s ear, and tries calling into it directly.

Distantly, he hears collective mutterings from the main street. Prompto ignores them, and places his fingers on Noct’s neck.

He pretends to ignore the way the head slowly lolls back, with nothing to support it, and instead focuses on finding the beat from underneath the skin.

“Excuse me, sir…”

There’s a voice, but it’s distorted and warped, like the way things sound inside a glass bowl. It becomes more insistent with each passing second, culminating in a foreign hand being placed on Prompto’s shoulder.

Prompto presses down, harder.

The voice becomes less muffled, more loud, but Prompto drowns it out, still searching for that steady drumbeat beneath his fingertips; because - because he knows its _there,_ he just can’t find it, and if the man shaking his shoulder could _shut up and leave him to it,_ then maybe he could-

“Sir, please, there’s nothing you can do-”

“Get off me.” Prompto whispers, quiet.

“Please, sir, we can get you someplace warm-”

“I said _no!”_

Prompto’s shouting now, but the hands - multiple hands - are too strong for him, dragging him away. He opens his mouth but he can’t hear what comes out of it, because all he can focus on is Noct, Noct, Noct, lying in that pool of blood, cold and alone, and he refuses to believe that-

_“Get off me!”_

His shouts fall on deaf ears. He’s kicking with all his strength now, pulling and scratching at those hands with the might of a zu - and maybe the Astrals aren’t so merciless, after all, because one moment he’s scrabbling for a purchase on the ground, and the next he’s on his feet by a twisted turn of events-

Prompto runs. He stumbles, but he runs, and he’s never run so fast in his life, and Noct’s form is getting closer by the second-

He reaches a hand out, lets out a gasp-

Noct is the last person he sees for a while.

 

* * *

 

_Prompto’s floating, but he can’t open his eyes._

_The memory of Noct, lying in that dark puddle, resurfaces like thorns prickling behind his eyelids. He lets his eyes well up, lets the tears spill onto his cheeks, and then down some more, dropping into the endless chasm of wherever the fuck he is now._

Remain ever at his side, _Luna had asked. He couldn't even do that._

_Prompto keeps his eyes closed. He doesn't know where he is - at this point, he doesn't want to know. So he keeps on floating._

_For a while, he tries not to feel; to ignore the fissures cracking into his very core, and the chasms they leave behind. Multitudes of questions and accusations worm their way into his mind, and he lets them. If only he had been quicker; if only he had taken another route home; if only he’d pushed Noct out of the way - if only, if only, if only-_

_Distantly, Prompto feels a trickling sensation under his skin; almost like cold water. It's decidedly sharp, though - like the ice he and Noct had trudged through only moments ago._

_Noct, who wouldn't be trudging through anything for a very long time._

_Noct._

_Noct._

_Noct._

_Prompto feels a stabbing sensation through his eyelids, rousing him from his self-induced sleep. He supposes that they're taking him off whatever drugs they've set him on._

_He lets them wake him up, resigned to the fact that he’ll be waking up alone._

 

* * *

 

Prompto expects stark white walls; or police sirens blaring in the distance; or sympathetic nurses offering their condolences, one after the other. He expects to be offered a styrofoam cup full of bland hospital coffee, and envisions a time when he’ll have to give statements he’s too weary to give.

He doesn’t expect to be back in the very same coffee shop he and Noct were in before the… accident. It’s as warm as ever; the rich aromas of coffee beans drift through the air, causing a stir in his stomach. The low hum from the people’s chatter, all cosied up in their separate booths, adds to the same warm atmosphere. Prompto wonders who dumped him back here, and thinks it’s an asshole move to pull.

A nudge against his foot interrupts his thoughts. Prompto raises his head, ready to apologise for taking someone’s space, only to meet with a smug grin framed by soft black hair.

Soft black hair?

“You did it again,” the person hums, leaning his head on the table. There’s a mug of steaming chocolate next to him, with copious lashings of whipped cream dolloped on top. Prompto squints a little, trying to work out the identity of his mysterious partner, before his jaw slackens.

He knows for a fact that Roen hasn’t released their spring collection yet. He knows that the Behemoth bomber jacket is a huge hit among fashion editors and consumers alike. He also knows that there’s only one person in the entirety of Eos that’s gotten their hands on the jacket early - by pulling some strings here and there, and with the help of an exasperated adviser.

Prompto feels his throat clog up, like someone’s poured a vat of sickly sweet honey down it and didn’t bother to clean up afterwards. His palms are suspiciously wet, and he feels himself begin to shake, as the _extremely-alive-prince_ before him lets out a long-suffering yawn.

A curious ringing starts in his ears as he desperately cycles through his own, obviously-tampered memories. A multitude of questions swarm before him: _how did he get here? Why is Noct here? Is this the afterlife? Is he hallucinating? What happened to Noct? Why  is Noct... alive?_

“N-Noct?” is all he manages to croak, though. Noct must realise that there’s something off about his best friend, because he raises his head, throwing a curious look in Prompto’s direction.

“Yeah?” Noct asks, a little less teasing. “What’s up? You look a little strange.”

“Noct, you’re not…” the words aren’t tumbling out, “You’re… you’re not… I-I thought…”

“Prom?” Noct’s definitely concerned now, and Prompto’s fingers start to tremble. “What’s wrong?”

“I… the car- I thought- I thought you were -” Prompto lurches backwards as he stumbles to his feet. Dimly, he’s aware that he’s drawing the puzzled glances of the other customers, and the disapproving glares of the baristas. “I was- I thought you were- _you weren’t moving,_ and-”

“Prompto, please! Tell me what’s wrong, I don’t understand-”

Prompto takes one look at the alarm in Noct’s eyes - they’re very blue, and very real. Noct’s gotten to his feet too; one hand gripping the edge of the table, while the other reaches out in a bid to placate him. Neither of the hands pass through the objects, and neither have an eerily white sheen to them.

_Noct isn’t dead._

Prompto staggers backwards, and bolts.

 

 

 

He’s not sure how he ends up on the floor of a bathroom stall, with his head between his thighs. He’s aware that his frantic gasps for air have finally begun to subside, and that he’s rocking back and forth with far less velocity than he had been doing for the past five minutes. The sounds of the café that had been muted until now slowly begin to roar to life again, and the normalcy of it all helps Prompto to calm down a little.

Prompto knows that he needs to calm down. He needs to get out of this bathroom stall, apologise to Noct for causing such a fright, and remember never to take that particular coffee blend ever again.

As he pushes himself up gingerly, wincing as his fingers come away suspiciously wet, he can’t help but wonder at the oddity of it all. It’s not often that he gets dreams (or hallucinations, in this case) as vividly at this one. Although, Prompto supposes that it wasn’t much of dream. It was more like a twisted nightmare.

Anyway. It was just a nightmare. Worst timing, but still, just a nightmare. Thank the Astrals.

“Prom?” a soft, tentative voice asks from the other side of the door. Prompto curses inwardly, because of course Noct would follow him. He really hopes that Noct didn’t hear that embarrassing breakdown.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine!” he calls back. Prompto’s relieved that his voice doesn’t hold any tremors any more. “One sec-”

He swings the door back, and is immediately greeted with a faceful of Noct.

“Oof,” is all he manages, though. Noct clutches to him like a constipated octopus, melding their bodies together in such a way that it makes Prompto redden at what they must look like right now, and at the suggestiveness of it all, and - _is that hair in his mouth?_

“Dude, dude, I’m fine!” he chuckles, a little awkwardly. “Seriously. Nothing happened, see? No big deal.”

“It’s not _‘no big deal’_ ,” Noct pulls back, frowning. Prompto conveniently forgets to mention that they’re still wrapped around each other, right next to a toilet. “You’re upset. I want to know why.”

“Wow, buddy, that’s a bit direct, don’t you think?” Prompto feigns laughter. Noct doesn’t buy it, obviously, staring at Prompto with that intense gaze that makes him feel a tad uncomfortable. Prompto stares back as he struggles to think of something that aligns with his bizarre actions.

Admittedly, there’s not really much that can cover _accidentally-blurting-out-how-you-thought-your-best-friend-was-dead_. Noctis must notice his useless scrabbling for a story, because he blinks a bit, before sighing.

“Prom, I just want to help. You scared me back there… so please, don’t shut me out now?”

Astrals, how is he supposed to say _no_ to that face?

“Seriously. It was nothing.” Prompto says, as smoothly as he can. “My spacing-outs just became a hell of a lot weirder, I guess. I’m fine now, see?”

Noct searches his face intently. “You sure?”

“Positive. Cherry on top.”

“Really sure?”

“ _Yes,_ Noct.”

“No, but I mean, are you _really-”_

Prompto answers that one with his best attempt at a deadpan. Noct still looks doubtful, but at least Prompto’s comical expression draws a chuckle out of the prince. The vibration reverberates throughout their bodies, creating a _really_ pleasant sensation.

“Well… if you change your mind, then you know I’m always here for you, right? I feel like I don’t say that as often as I should…”

Noct peels himself away from Prompto, before turning away and bashfully rubbing the back of his head. It’s so incredibly endearing that Prompto can’t help but smile at him, all traces of that awful hallucination out of sight and out of mind.

Mostly, anyway.

“I already know,” he assures. This time, he slips his hand into Noct’s, instead of the other way round, and pulls him back towards the table.

If Noct’s cheeks turn a dusty pink colour, he never notices.

 

 

 

They're on the road again soon afterwards. Despite his best efforts, Prompto still can't shake the image of a dead Noctis out of his head. It's a sight he never wants to see for the rest of his life.

So he thinks nothing of it when he keeps holding Noct’s hand. Extra precautions, right?

It also feels extremely warm and intimate, but that's definitely not why he’s doing it.

“Uh, Prompto?”

“Yeah?”

“I, ah,” Noct says, ever the eloquent. “You- you know what, nevermind.”

“Noo, you have to tell me now! What's got His Highness stuttering?”

“It's _nothing,”_ His Highness huffs. “I was… just gonna say.”

“Yeeeeeah?” Prompto goads, somewhat eager.

Noct rubs the back of his head again, looking away while he does so. “Your hand’s kinda warm, is all,” he finally admits, and Prompto swears he can feel himself flush.

All of Prompto's earlier bravado vanishes, replaced with an overwhelming urge to throttle himself with a pillow. He sort of wants to evaporate into the cold air, or melt into the frost, to be picked up by a laughing kid later and turned into a snowman.

He can't really do any of these things, though, so he settles on trying his best not to seem like a complete and utter egg in front of Noct.

A distant, unnerving feeling’s begun to creep up, too, nestled in the back of his mind, nudging him towards that nightmare again. He knows that it’s completely irrational, yet it’s still there, and it refuses to budge. Prompto mentally shakes his head to try and get rid of those particular thoughts.

"Well, we can't all be human icebergs like you, Noct," he answers instead, injecting a teasing lilt into his tone in an attempt to mask his inner uncertainty. “Press the button?”

Noct does, and they both stride briskly to the kerb, shivering as they do so. While they wait, Prompto stares at the crossing laid out before them. Surprisingly, the road itself’s bare, even though the sun’s barely started to slip below the horizon. The cars aren’t shooting past as they usually do, either, which Prompto finds a little odd.

“Would you look at that,” Noct murmurs, tipping his face back to gaze at the sky. Prompto starts a bit, because it sounds oddly familiar, before craning his neck upwards, too.

Delicate, ivory snowflakes are drifting lazily from the sky, spiralling downwards until they join the layer of frost on the ground. Prompto would’ve been awestruck, probably would’ve even cheered - if the scene wasn’t exactly the same as the one hours ago.

First the road, then Noct’s words, and now the snow. Either he’s overthinking things, or something isn’t adding up, here. Prompto doesn’t want to push it, though, because he still wants to visit that department store and finally get himself some gloves.

That, and he really wants to know what Noct’s wants to tell him at his apartment, so he decides to brush it off. It was all probably just a coincidence, anyway. Or the Astrals decided to have some fun up there, laughing at Prompto as he panics and splutters in the process.

“Prom?” Noct asks, and Prompto jerks out of his contemplation. He really needs to stop spacing out so often; one glance at Noct’s face reveals flashes of worry.

“It’s nice! Real nice,” he agrees, brightly. “Haven’t had snow since, what? Three years?”

“Yeah.” Noct exhales, slowly, the puff of breath billowing out into a soft grey cloud. “Thought you might like it.”

“Aw, I wish I brought my-”

“Camera? Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare at the apartment.”

Huh. Weird. Prompto could swear that he’d heard that dialogue before: word for word.

He decides to hold on to Noct’s hand, just for a while longer. Peace of mind, really - until they cross the road.

“You’re the best, buddy,” he beams. “Wouldn’t miss a photo op like this for anything.”

Noct snorts, and the sound’s a bit like a baby garula, in Prompto highly informed opinion. “Glad you’re not missing it, then,” he tells him, and Prompto beams just a little more.

Until Noct tips his head back and groans: “Anyway, can we cross? It's not like there are any cars here.”

Prompto’s heart begins to flip-flop uncontrollably, like stacks of dice being shaken in a plastic box. He swallows, before managing a strangled, “W-What about the green man?”

“Eh,” the prince says, a grin flickering at his lips, “at this rate the green man’ll show up when I get to the throne. Let’s just go already, c’mon.”

Fleeting visions of a body lying on the unforgiving concrete, pale and still and tinted with crimson, flicker across Prompto’s memories, like gunshots in the dark. He knows, _he knows_ that it’s impossible, because, well... whoever heard of nightmares coming to life?

And yet-

“Let this one pass, and then we’ll go…” Noct mutters. Prompto feels a sudden urge to pull Noct away from the road, but he doesn’t voice it.

His eyes land surreptitiously on the huge, LED video display panned out on the towering brick wall. It reads _Saturday, 3rd February, 16:30, M.E. 753._

“All right - now!”

The black truck whooshes past. Noct’s pulling Prompto along, half-hauling him, because Prompto seems to have forgotten how to use his legs.

**"** Hey, don’t let me do all the work,” Noct laughs, a sound as warm as the cinnamon sticks Prompto favours at his favourite market stall. Now, though, he doesn’t find any joy in it; only a creeping sense of dread, trickling like sewage water through rusted pipes in an abandoned hospital.

“Wait, Prompto - is that yours?”

Prompto glances down at the tarmac. There’s a white sheet of paper, its edges slowly soaking up the frost underneath.

He swallows. “Yeah, it’s mine. It’s not important though. Let’s just leave it.”

Noct furrows his eyebrows.”Wait. Isn’t that your appointment letter?”

Prompto inhales swiftly, silently begging for Noct to stop pushing it. He really, _really_ wants to cross this road. “Y-Yeah, but don’t worry. Trust me, I’ve got tons of those-”

“Sheesh, Prom. You don’t have to ask, y’know? Wait here.”

And, without warning, Noct lets go of Prompto’s hand, and strolls into the middle of the road, bending down to retrieve the letter.

“W-Wait! Noct, no - _Noct!”_

“Prom? Hey, what’s with the-”

In some ways, the impact is worse than the first time.

Prompto can only stand there, frozen, _useless,_ as the car skids around the bend in the road, and hurtles towards Noct. This time, he sees with startling clarity _exactly_ how Noct’s eyes widen; how the colour is sucked from his face; and how the scream rips itself from his throat.

He breaks into a sprint, but Noct's too far away. Noct's too far away for him to ever reach in time.

The scream is abruptly cut off with a sickening _thud_. Prompto watches the body skid across the asphalt, a strangled cry wrenching its way out of his throat.

Noct's eyes are still open. His arms drop limply to his sides, and his legs crumple underneath the weight of his body. His hair sticks wetly to the frost, painting it stark crimson against the soft white.

_Noct._

Suddenly, Prompto’s throat is closing up, shuttering shut like bars in a jail cell. He struggles to move his feet; his eyes are trained solely on Noct. His vision's blurry with tears, already, and something distinctly foggy is permeating his senses. He tries to stagger forwards again, tries to cry out - but nothing happens.

_Noct._

Agony explodes across his skin, spitting along the small of his back. Prompto gasps, and lurches forwards onto his knees. He can't move anything, The force bearing down on his back feels like it's enough to kill him.

_Noct._

He squeezes out a sob. "No, no, _no-!"_

The fog overtakes him completely. He falls forward, all feeling lost in his body, before his eyes roll back into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

_Prompto forces his eyes open this time. He’s floating again, in a blue, ethereal glow. Although there’s nothing supporting him, he’s not freefalling; rather, he’s mindlessly drifting down, with no end in sight._

_He can’t find it in himself to care. It’s a bit hard to care about anything, really, when your best friend’s died in front of you. Twice._

_Something’s been going on, behind the scenes, from the start. He’s figured this much._

_He doesn’t know whether to be angry or thankful. Noct’s died, and he couldn’t do anything, but… he was also… resurrected? And apparently, he doesn’t even remember his own death._

_Except, Prompto does. Prompto thinks he wouldn't be able to forget those images if he tried._

_Something cold grazes his cheek, and he realises with a start that he’s begun to shiver. He whips around, going a bit too fast and consequently hurtling face forwards into the shimmery air._

_“What’s going on?” he calls into the distance, voice frantic. The echoes reverberate and reverberate, as if they're hitting the walls of an endless chamber. He hates how he already expects his efforts to be fruitless, and tries again._

_"Please! I just want to know!"_

_A strong, bright light starts to shine out of nowhere. The cold air begins to whirl into something more sinister, trapping his limbs and sucking the life out of them. Prompto tries to resist, but it seems like the ice has gotten to his lungs, too, because suddenly all the air's being expelled from his mouth, but there’s none coming in._

_He gasps, scrabbling at his throat, as the light shines ever brighter. Distantly, he thinks he can hear a high, clear voice, but at this point he's barely able to think._

_Prompto's body gives in, as he succumbs to the light._

 

* * *

 

When he comes to, the ice freezing up his veins has retracted, leaving him cold and vaguely empty, but otherwise unharmed.

Prompto blearily wipes at his eyes. The foggy haze clouding his mind has lifted, and he finds that he’s surrounded by warmth, low chatter and soft copper chandeliers.

He’s back in the coffee shop.

“You did it again,” someone hums in front of him.

It’s Noct. To his credit, Prompto’s brain doesn’t stutter to a halt this time. Instead, he wills his nerves to still, and forces them to stop flaring up.

Noct’s not dead. He died once, and then came back to life. Then he died again, and now he’s back.

None of this is adding up. They’re back in the same coffee shop, and Noct’s saying the exact same things as he said before he was killed by a speeding car. Worst of all, Noct doesn’t remember a thing.

Prompto wonders if he’s going delusional, or if he’s stuck in some hellish purgatory he can’t claw his way out of.

“Something on my face?” Noct asks, lazily propping himself up on his elbows. Prompto swallows, and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says quietly, thankful his voice doesn’t come out choked. “Hold on a sec, I’ll be right back. Need the bathroom.”

Noct waves him off with the promise of ordering more biscuits. Custard creams - Prompto’s favourite. Prompto leaves Noct none the wiser, and hurries down the back hallway to the back of the café.

He unlocks the same cubicle he was in only hours ago, and sinks down onto the same floor. With trembling fingers, Prompto takes out his phone, and presses down on the home button to light up the screen.

_Saturday, 3rd February, 16:00._

He’s not hallucinating. Whatever’s going on is completely and utterly real.

Prompto stows his phone back in his pocket, and wraps his arms around his legs, drawing them closer to his body. He waits for the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears to die down, until they reach a passable volume - one that doesn’t drown out everything else.

He has no idea what’s going on; whether the Astrals are playing a cruel trick on him, or if it’s fate, or if he’s supposed to do something to stop Noct from dying.

Prompto turns his head to stare at the wall, his cheek pressed harshly into the denim of his jeans. He sits there for a little while, with only the _drip drip drip_ of the tap water plopping into polished sinks for company.

He doesn’t understand why _he_ of all people was being subjected to… whatever this is. In the face of something so daunting, he feels so very small - it feels like there’s someone pulling strings and turning cogs, and playing with their fates, all the way up in the heavens. He feels a little sick thinking about that, actually.

But he does know one thing. He’d be damned if he let Noct die again.

“Prom? You in there?” a muffled voice asks from outside the door. Prompto lifts his head, and registers the voice as Noct’s. He hasn’t been keeping track of the time.

“Yeah,” he responds, getting to his feet. “Coming!”

Prompto thinks about that road again, and that car, and the screams, and he feels very small.

For Noct, though? He’s determined to try.

 

* * *

 

****This time, Prompto doesn't hold Noct's hand. He misses the warmth, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that he’ll do it - as a secret celebratory gesture - once they reach the other side.

He's more attentive of his surroundings. His eyes rake over the sky, where slowly but surely, soft snow glitters beneath the clouds.

Prompto nudges Noct. "Look up," he breathes, gesturing above them.

Noct's face breaks into a smile of appreciation once he notices it. "D'you think the snow will stick?"

"Sure hope so!" Prompto says. He adjusts his coat, and pats his zipped pocket for the umpteenth time.

Things are going… differently. He’s not sure whether it’s because he’s actively trying to alter the outcome of things, or whether it’s simply because he brought up the snow first. He doesn’t know whether the little things even count towards anything, in the end.

He hopes they do.

They continue walking in companionable silence. The camera isn’t brought up, which Prompto takes as a good sign. He doesn’t know whether events are changing for better or for worse - but as long as Noct doesn’t die, he’ll take whatever he can get.

They step up to the kerb again, and Prompto watches as Noct fidgets impatiently, shifting from foot to foot. The traffic light shines a warning red - it’s been shining that warning red since they’ve left the shop.

Noct opens his mouth, but Prompto interrupts him before any suggestions can tumble out.

“C’mon, we can wait a little longer. It’ll change soon.”

“It’s taking too long,” Noct grumbles. “At this rate, the green man’ll come-”

“-when you get to the throne?” Prompto finishes, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s quickly quashed by his anxiety, though.

Noct looks affronted. “How did you know that?” he demands.

“I’m a mind reader, dude.” Prompto says airily, waving his hands about in a _I-know-more-than-you-mere-mortals-will-ever-know_ manner. “It’s a natural gift.”

They look at each other once, Noct feigning annoyance and Prompto with his nose turned up, before they erupt into giggles.

“Well, you learn something new every day, huh?” the prince grins. He punches Prompto lightly in the upper arm, and Prompto winces (because _ow,_ he was not expecting that, and Noct doesn’t know that he fell and scraped his arm on his morning run). “Hey, the green man’s here. Guess you’re right.”

Prompto immediately forgets about the soreness in his shoulder, and focuses instead on the lights.

The green man flashes; safe and inviting. There are no cars coming their way. The black truck has whooshed past ages ago - Prompto knows this, because he’s been keeping an eye out for it. The red one is nowhere to be seen.

The sun’s all but disappeared. The sky’s just begun to darken; not by much, but just enough so that he has to squint to make out objects in the distance. It’s sort of like the colours he made as a kid, when he got blues of all shades and dipped the paintbrush into clear water.

Prompto checks left and right again. Noct's begun to look at him a little strangely, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Prompto pretends not to have noticed it.

“Yeah,” he finally declares, “let’s cross.”

And they step to the road.

Prompto’s heart hammers, painful, and threatening to burst clean out of his ribcage and betray every bottled emotion. If this were a TV show, he’d be laughing and thinking it silly - because whose throat clams up when trying to cross a road?

To be fair, though, he has lots of reasons to be anxious right now.

He feels his palms slide queasily against the inside of his coat pocket, even though the chill’s practically biting at his nose and ears, leaving them red and raw. He glances around, furtive and on edge. Noct walks slightly ahead of him, to his right.

It's only when they reach the middle, flanked by nothing but air and the soft glow of neon shop signs and street lights, does Prompto relax.

In an instant, all the unease Prompto's been feeling is squashed by glee, because... Noct's not dead. Noct's shivering, breathing and alive, right in front of him, and _he's not dead._

His utter joy must translate to his face pretty well, because Noct catches a glimpse of it and quirks an eyebrow.

“What’s with the maniacal grin?” Noct chuckles, affection seeping into his tone. Prompto resolves to appreciate that laugh as much as he can from now on.

"Nothing!" he answers, genuinely cheerful. He winks. "Just appreciating the view, y'know?"

Noct rolls his eyes and huffs, but Prompto's very pleased to see that he nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to turn around.

"Astrals," Noct groans, fond, "that one's so _old_. C'mere, you dork."

Noct turns around properly, extending a gloved hand. In that moment, with his hair peppered with snow (like the stars in the sky), and eyes brimming with mirth, Prompto understands that Noct truly is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Prompto laughs, too. He relishes in the comfort of their companionship, and begins to hurry forward.

He doesn’t get to hold his hand, because there’s that familiar screech of tyres scraping against concrete, and there’s a slam and a fiery onslaught of hot smoke, and then the hand’s gone. Disappeared, into an abrupt blur.

Noct’s gone, too.

Prompto's arm is still outstretched, except now it's in front of the red car; the one that's rapidly speeding away. Part of him wants to scream, to shout, but the same sickly honey's choking him again and he can’t breathe-

_This wasn't supposed to happen this wasn't supposed to happen this wasn't supposed to happen this wasn't supposed to happen this wasn't supposed to happen-_

Something oozes inside of Prompto’s stomach, burning him from the inside. He clutches his middle with one arm and sinks to the ground, vision already fading to a static.

_How-?_

There’s a dark stain spreading through the ice next to Noct’s head; leisurely, as if it were some kind of game. The sudden nausea enveloping Prompto’s stomach threatens to bubble up

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. His breathing quickens, as does the roaring in his ears, because - what did he do? What did he do _wrong?_ They - they didn’t cross prematurely, this time, they - Prompto made sure to stop Noct from going ahead, and -

No. No, he didn’t.

Noct was in front of him. Noct was always in front of him, and Prompto didn’t do a thing.

This time, he doesn’t resist when the fog deadens his senses.

 

* * *

 

_"Please,” he pleads, as he drifts through the colours. There aren’t very many of them: cerulean, cobalt, sapphire, midnight, teal. “Please, tell me. What am I supposed to do?”_

_There’s no answer. The boy tumbles and tumbles, before he is pulled up to the light once more._

 

* * *

 

“You did it again,” Noct hums, spooning more marshmallows into his mug.

Prompto stays silent. The ice in his veins still lingers, and he has to blink furiously before he's sure the tears won't fall.

Wordlessly, he gets up, and manoeuvres around the table. He squashes into the plump purple cushions next to Noct, and pulls the other boy into a crushing hug.

Prompto knows that he’s searching desperately for comfort. He can’t help it, though - not when all he’s been seeing is Noct lying lifeless on the floor, so many times. It’s all he _can_ see, now.

Prompto wraps his arms more tightly around Noct, resting his chin on his head, so that the sleek black strands tickle his neck.

“Oof,” is all Noct says, muffled. He sounds confused and unsure, but encircles Prompto’s waist with his own arms all the same.

They stay like that for a while. The other customers pay them no mind, and the thrum of their voices are drowned out by the presence of the boy he’s holding. Prompto feels Noct’s heartbeat from where their chests are pressed together. It’s strong and steady.

 

 

Some time later, Noct disentangles himself from Prompto. He looks the blonde up and down, concern written plainly across his face, but he makes no comment on it.

"Any reason for the impromptu hug?" he asks, gentle. "Not that I'm complaining, or anything. It was a pretty nice hug."

"Nah," Prompto answers, giving him a little smile. "Just. We haven't done that for a while, is all."

 

 

_Saturday, 3rd February, 16:00_

Prompto's back in the bathroom. The overwhelming guilt that's been threatening to drown him in the past few hours has been forcefully repressed, and deftly replaced with a determination that's far stronger than he's ever felt before. He still doesn't understand what the hell's going on, but he gets the gist.

On the third of February, at approximately 16:30, he and Noct start to make their way towards Noct's apartment, because Noct has something to tell him that he doesn't want to express in public. It starts to snow, just before they take the crossing between the high road and the department store.

Noct is hit by a red car and killed on impact. Prompto is sent back in time, back to the coffee shop where Noct is still alive, and the vicious cycle repeats itself.

So far, he's certain of three things:

  1. Noct is always hit, even if he and Prompto switch places.
  2. Prompto never gets enough time to reach him, because something pulls him under the minute he tries.
  3. Before Prompto returns to the coffee shop again, he’s pulled into a world, where ice creeps into his bloodstream and he can’t do much but float in the air.



Prompto rubs at his temple, and scours his brain for any ideas; anything that could get them out of this hell.

So far, he’s come up with very little. All his ideas pale in comparison when drawn up against the looming outcome. Prompto ignores the little voice of despair wiggling in the back of his mind, though, because if he doesn’t think of something, Noct will die. He doesn’t think he can bear seeing that again.

He supposes that nothing is too out of the ordinary, since he’s already in a bit of an otherworldly situation. In those horror games he and Noct used to play back in high school, some of the answers to the riddles had been not only frightening, but really odd, too.

In some ways, his current predicament is a a bit like the ones in those horror games.

In the the end, Prompto decides to try steering Noct away to another road, instead of the one leading to the department store. After all, you can’t get hit by a car if that car is nowhere near you, right?

Right.

Mouth steeled into an uncharacteristically grim line, Prompto shoves his phone back into his pocket, zips it up carefully, and steps into the warmth of the coffee shop.

 

* * *

 

****“Hey, d’you mind if we go to Costco for a bit first?” Prompto announces, as they weave their way through the rapidly thinning crowds.

Noct looks at him blankly. “What for?” he asks, bemused.

“I’m running out of bread! Kind of need to stock up.”

“I’ve got bread in the fridge, just take some of that. Ignis always keeps it stocked, anyway, so it's not like it's gonna be missed."

Prompto isn't going down that easily. "N-o-o-o, but do you have _Ezekiel_ bread?" he sing-songs, hoping that Noct buys into it.

"The hell is that?" Noct asks, genuinely interested.

“Only the healthiest bread in existence! It's got no sugar, no preservatives, no artificial ingredients, and it's only made with sprouted whole grains and legumes-!"

“Ew, ew, stop,” Noct cries, wrinkling his nose in disgust and making a _get-away-from-me-you-heathen_ gesture. “What kind of monster ruins perfectly good bread with _vegetables?”_

“This kind of monster, apparently,” Prompto laughs. “C’mon, Noct, it’ll be quick!”

Noct grumbles and groans, but lets himself be towed along anyway. Prompto lets out a sigh of relief, quiet enough so that the prince won’t hear.

They eventually reach the zebra crossing leading to the next road, specifically towards Costco. Prompto’s got this meticulously planned out; zebra crossings are far safer than normal ones, and from Costco they can take an alternative (albeit longer) route to Noct’s apartment.

Nothing should go wrong, yet he still feels uneasy.

"Remember the green cross code, Noct," Prompto half-teases, preoccupied with scouring the road for any incoming vehicles.

"Seriously? We did that in elementary school, Prom." Noct snorts. He imitates the motions they went through when they were younger, comically exaggerating turning his head left, right and then left again. Prompto huffs a laugh, but it comes out tinged with worry.

_I swear, I’m gonna hold your hand and not let go until we finish crossing this goddamn road,_ he declares fiercely in his head. The faux-confidence masks his creeping dread quite well.

“Uh, Prom? What?”

Shit. Since when did his thoughts translate directly into speech without him realising?

“Oh, wow, you heard that! Haha, buddy, that was- that came out so not like I wanted it to? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not _wrong,_ but,” - Prompto’s definitely babbling now, and he can physically feel his face getting hotter, and _shit_ he probably looks like a Leiden tomato right now, _why is this beginning to sound like a confession, it’s too early for this_ \- “honestly, it’s not like I don’t _want_ to, but it wasn’t supposed to come out like that? I mean - oh no I’m babbling, aren’t I? Listen, Noct, this probably sounds really weird, but," - and look at him, making it even weirder, _way to go, Argentum_ \- "it's not like, I would mind? If I were to, uh, _holdyourhand-"_

Noct, looking as if a kid had picked up a red crayon and scribbled all over his cheeks, grabs Prompto's hand.

"You could've just asked, instead of spouting a monologue." the prince huffs. Most of his face is turned away, out of... embarrassment?

_Huh,_ Prompto thinks, dazedly, before cataloguing that reaction away for future purposes. He won't deny that Noct's actions just now gives him a bit of a confidence boost, and an added sprinkle of optimism.

It’s odd, how holding hands suddenly becomes much more tentative and hopeful when put with the right words and the right context.

It also reminds him of what's at stake.

He knows he can do this, though. He has to do this.

“So,” Noct smirks, regaining his usual composure, “why d’you want to hold hands to the end of the road, specifically?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey, I’m fine with it.” That shit-eating grin’s back, plastered across Noct’s face.

“Whatever, buddy. Let’s just get to Costco.”

It could just be Prompto’s imagination, but he swears he sees something flit across Noct’s face. It’s only for a second, though, so he shakes it off and focuses on the task ahead of him.

_Hold his hand. Don’t let him go in front of you. Don’t let him go behind you. Hold his hand. Don’t pick up the piece of paper if it falls out again. Hold his hand._

He runs through everything he needs to, while the cars start to slow down and eventually stop, leaving them a clear path. Then he runs through them again, and then once more.

Prompto’s sure his palms are sweaty, judging by how anxious he feels. He keeps his gaze trained on the glittering ice, instead of voicing his fears aloud.

“Let’s go,” he hears himself saying. His throat feels dry.

He clutches at Noct’s hand, firmly. If Noct feels his fingers tremble, he doesn’t make a comment on it.

They walk. Every step feels like trudging through quicksand to Prompto. The cars have definitely stopped; he gives the one on the right a jaunty wave, and prays that it stays there.

_Please. Astrals, please..._

They make it three-quarters of the way this time. Prompto’s begun to nervously thumb the back of Noct’s hand as he walks, eyes skittishly scanning his peripheral vision for any red vehicles.

He’s just about to start pulling Noct towards the end of the road, out of a heightened sense of fear and the elated possibility that he could actually _save_ Noct, when he turns his head just a fraction of an inch-

there’s a dark blur, a stain in the dusk-

someone screams, directly into his ear-

he’s on the floor, ice seeping into the fabric of his coat-

there’s a warm weight on top of him, and something sticky running onto his cheek-

The fog overtakes him.

 

* * *

 

_The boy’s curled in on himself, unmoving as he drifts. His unnatural stillness is enveloped by the blue lights, dancing in upwards strokes, as if painted by a craftsman. The boy doesn’t marvel at them. Instead, he presses his eyes into the hard bones of his knees, and makes himself as small as possible._

_“Hope is not yet lost, Prompto Argentum.”_

_The boy lifts his head, slowly, wearisome. His eyes are red-rimmed and bright, and there are tracks glistening down his cheeks._

_Yet, when he hears the voice, his expression changes slowly from despair to hope._

 

* * *

 

****“How come you’re so quiet all of a sudden?” Noct asks, continuing to shovel apple pie into his mouth at breakneck speed.

Prompto starts in his seat, looking as if he’s been struck by one of Ramuh’s lightning bolts. He flashes his signature grin a little too quickly, before hurrying to answer.

“Nothing! Just spaced out a bit, is all.”

Noct squints at him from his little plate, fork hovering in the air. Ordinarily he would’ve teased Prompto for his daydreaming (“someone else caught your eye?”), but this time, he’s hesitant.

“...You know I’m always here for you, right?” he says slowly, carefully. “If anything’s wrong, I mean. Or if something’s bothering you.”

His best friend beams at him. “‘Course I know, Noct!” he chirps, sounding as chipper as ever. Noct thinks he looks cute when he smiles like that, his cheeks all scrunched up and his eyes squinty.

Noct thinks that this particular smile doesn’t _quite_ reach his eyes, but he dismisses it as a trick of the light, and chooses not to comment on it.

“Anyway,” Prompto continues (and Noct definitely hears his voice falter one teensy bit), “I was wondering. D’you mind if we stay here for a bit longer? People-watching is _so_ much better at night.”

“Sure, Prom,” Noct answers, a bit surprised. “Whatever you want. There’s no rush.”

He looks away before he can catch sight of Prompto furiously scraping the back of his hand over his eyes.

 

 

A few hours later, Prompto’s on his knees again. They’re scraped and bloody from where he skidded across the concrete, and the ice stings as it seeps through his skin.

He’s cradling Noct, left ear pressed to his chest, searching for a sound he can’t hear no matter how hard he tries. The smell of gas pervades his nose, clogging his senses. He coughs, hacking into the frigid air, and Noct’s body shudders and convulses, too.

Prompto presses Noct closer to him. Noct’s head tips backward when he does, and his eyes stare up into the deep black sky. The snow’s still falling. Starting to stick, even.

Prompto closes his eyes, and tries again.

 

* * *

******CHAT: Ignis Scientia** \+ **quicksilverrr**

Saturday 3rd February, M.E. 753

**quicksilverrr [16:01]:** hey iggy

**quicksilverrr [16:01]:** are you busy rn?

**Ignis [16:03]:** Merely looking over a couple of reports.

**Ignis [16:03]:** Is something the matter?

**quicksilverrr [16:03]:** nah it’s just

**quicksilverrr [16:03]:** i wanted to ask something

**quicksilverrr [16:04]:** real quick

**Ignis [16:05]:** Of course.

**quicksilverrr [16:06]:** ok so this is gonna sound real dumb but

**quicksilverrr [16:06]:** ~~do you feel as if you’ve been living the past few hours again and again~~ [DELETED]

**quicksilverrr [16:08]:** ~~is it just me, or has time just suddenly stopped~~ [DELETED]

**quicksilverrr [16:10]:** ~~noct keeps dying and i don’t know what to do~~ [DELETED]

**quicksilverrr [16:11]:** i ~~don’t think i can~~ [DELETED]

**Ignis [16:13]:** Prompto? You’ve been typing for quite some time.

**quicksilverrr [16:14]:** nah, it’s really not that important, honestly

**quicksilverrr [16:14]:** thanks for being here tho iggy! you’re the best ( ` ω ´ )

**Ignis [16:15]:**...Are you sure?

**quicksilverrr [16:15]:** yea yea no need to worry! besides, noct’s gonna start banging on the bathroom door any minute now if i stay for too long

**quicksilverrr [16:16]:** so i gotta dash!!!

**Ignis [16:17]:** Have you told him yet?

**quicksilverrr [16:17]:** ...no.

**Ignis [16:17]:** Prompto, this may sound superficial, but trust me when I say that his response won’t dishearten you as you believe it will.

**quicksilverrr [16:17]:** iggy…

**Ignis [16:18]:** I won’t pry. Just remember what we discussed.

**quicksilverrr [16:18]:** …

**quicksilverrr [16:18]:** thanks, ignis.

**Ignis [16:18]:** Any time.

**quicksilverrr** is offline

 

Prompto puts his phone in his pocket, zips it up, and exhales slowly.

 

 

Hours later, he’s on the floor again, face down this time. His arm is outstretched, but he’s not close enough. This time, there are sirens blaring around them, drowning out everything apart from the one person he couldn’t save.

Dimly, he wonders whether he’ll ever be able to save him, or if he’s destined to live these hours on loop, constantly watching his prince die and die again.

He waits for his vision to fray around the edges.

 

* * *

 

****_“You said,” the boy calls, his voice quivering, “that I could save him.”_

_He doesn’t get an answer, before he is pulled towards the light._

 

* * *

******CHAT: noctopus** \+ **quicksilverrr**

Saturday 3rd February, M.E. 753

**noctopus [14:04]:** where have you been?

**noctopus [14:05]:** been searching all along

**noctopus [14:05]:** came facing twilight on and on

**noctopus [14:05]:** without a clue

**noctopus [14:06]:** without a sign

**noctopus [14:06]:** without grasping yet

**noctopus [14:06]:** the real question to be asked...

**noctopus [14:07]:** is whERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, PROM

**noctopus [14:07]:** _it’s been 84 years_

**noctopus [14:07]:** _i am cold and lonely_

**quicksilverrr [14:09]:** WHAT THE UFKC NOCT

**quicksilverrr [14:09]:** who are you and what have you done with the crown prince? ಠ_ರೃ

**noctopus [14:09]:** ;)

**noctopus [14:10]:** forreal tho, prom, where are you?

**quicksilverrr [14:10]:** omw! had a teensy little mishap (〃▽〃)

**quicksilverrr [14:11]:** might be a bit late ಥ_ಥ

In reality, Prompto’s sat on the cold ledge of one of the many bridges sprawling over the expanse of Insomnia. For some reason, he’s been deposited at his house, some time before his outing with Noct. It’s a minor inconvenience, considering that he now has to walk to the damn place, too.

The water in this river is the clearest, and Prompto finds that watching his legs swing over the sides is mesmerising in a way that helps clear his thoughts.

**noctopus [14:11]:** idiot

**noctopus [14:11]:** i’ll come collect you

**noctopus [14:11]:** guess it’s goodbye to this soft, warm n cosy coffee shop

**noctopus [14:12]:** the things i do for you, prom

Prompto’s goofy grin is immediately wiped away, like chalk on a blackboard. He hurriedly texts back-

**quicksilverrr [14:12]:** no no no i’m literally right there!!! σﾟﾛﾟ)σ

**quicksilverrr [14:12]:** no need for your princely ass to exert any effort

-because (and the thought makes his insides curl up in disappointment) he still hasn’t figured out how to get them out of this mess.

He refuses to believe that it’s over, though, because the mysterious voice told him as such - even if he thinks he dreamt it up, sometimes.

Besides. It’ll be a day far, far into the future when he gives up on Noct.

**noctopus [14:13]:** are you sure

**noctopus [14:13]:** it’s rly not THAT much effort

**noctopus [14:13]:** would rather you be unmishapped

**quicksilverrr [14:14]:** is that even a fucking word, noct

**noctopus [14:14]:** I hereby decree that ‘unmishapped’ may take its formal place in the Official Lucian Dictionary of Officialness, dated 3rd February M.E. 753.

**noctopus [14:14]:** Stamped and approved by His Royal Highness Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV of Lucis, son of King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII of Lucis, son of King Mors Lucis Caelum CXII of Lucis, son of

**quicksilverrr [14:15]:** 1) is thAT A MCFUCKIN LOTR REFERENCE OH MY G ODS 2} noct, my best buddy, my pal, my one and only! are you feelin ok

**noctopus [14:16]:** 1) YEAAAA YOU GOT IT 2) no. pls hurry i’m cold and lonely and i’m watching lucky star

**quicksilverrr [14:16]:** awww, you miss me!! (๑♡3♡๑) (๑♡3♡๑)

**quicksilverrr [14:16]:** be there asap <3 <3 <3

**quicksilverrr [14:17]: ...** wait a minute...

**quicksilverrr [14:17]:** why… are you watching lucky star???

**noctopus [14:18]:** it’s the onLY THING I’VE GOT DOWNLOADED, OK

**quicksilverrr [14:18]:** AHHHAAAAHAA

**quicksilverrr [14:18]:** LUCKY STAR I’M D Y I N G

**noctopus [14:18]:** SHUT UP

**quicksilverrr [14:18]:** L U CK Y S T A R I AM C A C K L I N G

**quicksilverrr** took a screenshot of the chat!

**noctopus [14:18]:** F U C K you i’m never telling you anything ever again

**noctopus [14:19]:** i trust you with secrets of utmost importance and here you are, betraying me

**noctopus [14:19]:** actual treason???

**quicksilverrr [14:20]:** sorry i’m never gonna get over the fact that you

**quicksilverrr [14:20]:** were cold (bc your best friend wasn’t there for cuddlez <3)

**quicksilverrr [14:21]:** bored (bc your best friend wasn’t there to entertain you <3)

**quicksilverrr [14:21]:** lonely (bc your best friend wasn’t there in general <3)

**quicksilverrr [14:22]:** and so you decided to watch

**quicksilverrr [14:22]:** l u c k y s t a r

**n** **octopus [14:22]:** just shut up and hurry your ass on over here

**quicksilverrr [14:22]:** my ass is hurrying! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

**quicksilverrr [14:22]:** my ass is ready

**quicksilverrr [14:22]:** wait WAIT THAT CAME OUT WRONG

**noctopus [14:23]:** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**noctopus** took a screenshot of the chat!

**quicksilverrr [14:23]:** ok, fine. we can be even. happy?

**noctopus [14:23]:** absolutely ecstatic!

**noctopus [14:23]:** now hurry up

**quicksilverrr [14:24]:** hurrying! ヾ(°∇°*)

**noctopus [14:24]:** <3

**quicksilverrr [14:24]:** ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡

Prompto stows the phone back into his pocket, and swings his legs over the side, back onto the pavement. The texts leave an ache in his heart, because they always leave him irrevocably happy. Being Prompto, though, his brain keeps fast-forwarding to the image of Noctis face-down on the ground.

He finds himself cherishing these conversations more than ever.

Sticking his hands in his pocket, Prompto starts to walk.

 

 

**noctopus [14:37]:** [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZYskQzJopo ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qZYskQzJopo)

**quicksilverrr [14:37]:** DUDE

**quicksilverrr [14:37]:** I LAUGHED SO HARD I WALKED INTO A POSTBOX

**noctopus [14:38]:** can you still believe that iggy walked in on us headbanging to this fsfssfsfsfss

**noctopus [14:38]:** be cAREFUL, ASSHOLE

**quicksilverrr [14:38]** : best sleepover i’ve had to date i s2g!! remember how he actUALLY STARTED TO CRY wheN HE SAW YOUR HAIR, NOCT

**noctopus [14:39]:** what can i say??? the prince hair has a mind of its own

**noctopus [14:39]:** also

**noctopus [14:39]:** _i resolve to change that_

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There’s a young woman outfitted in high heels and a chic suit, tapping away on her phone as he edges between the cabs. Her brows are knitted together, and her mouth is tilted downwards into a frown.

Prompto wonders if the screenshots he’s taken will be wiped from his phone memory once he hurtles through time again - like how Noct’s memory is always wiped, too.

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**noctopus [14:59]:** In my restless dreams, I see that boy.

**noctopus [14:59]:** Prompto Argentum.

**noctopus [14:59]:** He promised he’d meet me again someday,

**noctopus [15:00]:** but he never did.

**quicksilverrr [15:00]:** can you not be patient for at least .002 seconds

**noctopus [15:00]:** no

**noctopus [15:00]:** i’m cold

**quicksilverrr [15:01]:** what ep are you on???

**noctopus [15:01]:** 17

**quicksilverrr [15:01]:** wow you’re nearly done!?

**noctopus [15:02]:** this is what happens when your best friend decides to squat his way to the local coffee shop

**quicksilverrr [15:02]:** i am NOT squatting!! (ʘдʘ╬)

**noctopus [15:03]:** it’s ok prom pom, i would never judge you

**quicksilverrr [15:03]:** ლಠ益ಠ)ლ

**noctopus [15:03]:** <3

****  
  
  
  
  
Soon enough, the intrusive thoughts overwhelm him, and he has to stop and sit down.

It’s been - what? Thirty hours? He doesn’t remember. Can’t remember.

Prompto curls up on the bench, tucking his legs underneath him as he watches the world go by. One man is out jogging with his dog. He waves at Prompto, while the dog yaps, spirited and playful.

Prompto remembers those long days he spent running, expending effort he didn’t know he had, until he was left gasping and spent outside his own gate. In retrospect, Noct probably wouldn’t even have cared if he was skinny or not - but he had never known that, back then.

He wonders whether his younger self really knew what he was getting into on that day he decided to befriend Noct. The memories they would go on to create together, or the wondrous sense of contentment he’d feel after each day spent well at the arcade; or napping in the prince’s apartment; or shrieking together on the rides at the amusement park.

The wind whips under his clothes as he wonders. He wonders if whichever higher deity that dealt him these cards really knows what they’re doing, when they keep throwing him into the past.

They must be very determined.

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**quicksilverrr [15:10]:** [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Us6d55UMwlc ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Us6d55UMwlc)

**noctopus [15:10]:** YOU MOTHERFUCKER

**quicksilverrr [15:11]:** (*＾∀゜)

**noctopus [15:11]:** I FUCKIN SCREECHED AND THIS LITTLE GIRL DID TOO AND NOW THE ENTIRE CAFE’S GIVING ME DIRTY LOOKS

**noctopus [15:12]:** THANK YOU FOR ABSOLUTE JACKSHIT, PROMPTO

**quicksilverrr [15:12]:** _i live to serve_

 

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**noctopus [15:28]:** h-hewwo? is anybody thewe??

**quicksilverrr [15:29]: blocked. reported. blacklisted. unfollowed. unfriended.**

**noctopus [15:29]:** you wound me

**noctopus [15:29]:** i can feel the blood trickling down the side of my face

 

Prompto feels violently sick when he reads the last text. He forces himself to look away, otherwise his brain will start bringing up _those_ images again.

 

**noctopus [15:29]:** anyway where are you??

**noctopus [15:30]:** i thought it doesn’t take too long from your house to catch a bus?

**noctopus [15:39]:** … prom?

**quicksilverrr [15:40]:** don’t worry! I’m coming! I’M NEARLY THERE

**noctopus [15:40]:** and that’s what she said

**q** **uicksilverrr [15:41]:** how are you the prince of an entire country

**noctopus [15:41]:** ;)

**noctopus [15:41]:** watch out for the revolving door

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**noctopus [15:45]:** bitch what did i SAY about the **_revolving door??_ **

**quicksilverrr [15:45]:** NOCT MY NOSE HURTS

**quicksilverrr** **[15:46]:** ow ow ooWWW

**noctopus [15:46]:** i did warn you

**quicksilverrr [15:46]:** ugggg

**quicksilverrr [15:46]:** and then all you did was sit there and snapchat me!!!

**noctopus [15:47]:** aw, prom, you know i love you really

**noctopus [15:47]:** anyway come over here, i already ordered your favourite

 

“Hey.” Noct says, all lazy grins, as Prompto approaches. He pushes a plate of black forest gâteau - with custard creams on the side - towards him, before patting the adjacent velvet seat.

Prompto’s still holding his nose. It’s throbbing incessantly, serving as a painful reminder of his earlier blunder (in front of the _entire coffee shop,_ no less.)

But when he sees Noct, gesturing at the cake he’d already ordered for Prompto, most of the negative emotions fade away until they’re just feeble buzzes in the background.

Then Noct lifts his phone to snap another picture of Prompto _(a mugshot, it's definitely a mugshot),_ and Prompto's springing onto him, trying to snatch the offending object off him, and Noct's holding it high up in the air, maddeningly out of reach - and Prompto knows that he won't stop trying, even if he ends up taking a _thousand_ hours to save them both.

 

As it turns out, CPR doesn’t work.

Really, he’s half expecting for it to fail. It doesn’t make the sinking realisation of it any less painful, though.

Noct's chest is still warm under his palms. When Prompto removes his hands to readjust them, they leave sticky red handprints over the too-pale skin.

All of a sudden, his palms start to swim before him. It takes him a second to understand that he’s staring down at his hands, but when he tries to move them, he finds that he can’t. His vision blurs, until the world’s a blend of monochromatic colours - and there’s the fog, ready to take him back.

It speaks volumes, how desperately Prompto welcomes that fog, now.

 

* * *

 

****_He’s drifting through the air again. He notices that the other colours have started to dim - they're not as bright, nor as dazzling as they used to be. In some ways, he’s glad he returns to this place. As ethereal as it is, he can’t help but think of it as a sort of… gate; back to a time where he can change things._

_Prompto drifts some more, waiting for the ice to trickle into his blood and numb his senses, when he sees the figure. He catches his breath, and remembers the mysterious voice from before._

_It's a woman, it seems. She’s too far away for him to discern her features, but he can see that she’s staring right at him. Her long black hair glints in the light._

_“Hello?” he tries, uncertain. She makes no motion._

_He tries again, louder. “Hello?”_

_The woman doesn't move. Prompto tries a different tactic._

_“Please, I don't know who you are, but I - I think that you can help me out, here.”_

_The woman cocks her head to one side, studying Prompto intently._

_“Can you... help me? Save him?”_

_“You already have the power to do so, Prompto Argentum.” Her voice is clear and melodious, like before. “Now, you need only use it.”_

_Prompto stares, befuddled. Her words reach him slowly, almost as if he’s hearing them underwater._

_His drifting isn’t as lethargic as before - is he starting to fall?_

_“Wait!” he pleads, feeling the air underneath him start to rush past. The woman stays where she is, but now she’s above him, on another plane entirely. “I don't understand! Please-"._

_He can’t finish, because the chill is settling in his veins again. Just before he goes under, Prompto swears he sees a… blizzard?_

_Whatever it is, it engulfs the woman entirely._

 

* * *

 

****_You already have the power. You already have the power. You already have the power._

Well, if he already _has_ the power, then why hasn’t he been able to finish this, already?

Angrily, Prompto scrubs at his eyes with his palms. He knows it won’t do him any good to feel resentment at the situation, because he did that once, and it got him nowhere.

He already has the power. Where, though? Last time he checked, he wasn’t blessed with the Crystal’s magic, nor did he have superhuman strength, nor any superb intellect.

There is precisely only _one_ idea taking root in his mind, but it’s so cliché he wants to laugh.

It’s heroic, it's stupid, and Noct is most certainly going to yell at him if he does go through with it. He'll probably cry, too - and Prompto never, _ever_ wants to see him cry.

The thing is, if he _does_ do it... he's almost certain that Noct will live. The incentive is too big to pass out on.

And, right now? This is one of his only plans where he can actually see the possibility of Noct surviving. Prompto will gladly deal with Noct's distress, if it means that the prince actually gets to experience it for himself.

If worst comes to worst, then… well. He’s counting on that woman to bring him back.

Prompto clenches and unclenches his fist, then nods his head. He hauls himself off of the floor, and starts to walk.

 

 

 

 

“We’re waiting,” Prompto interrupts, before Noct can complain.

“Jeez, Prompto,” Noct laughs. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“Didn’t need to. Your impatient face spells it out for me.”

Noct acts offended, before gently butting Prompto’s shoulder with his own. They stand there, and wait.

When the green man lights up, Prompto makes sure he takes the lead. He beckons Noct over with a crook of his finger, and makes sure that he’s always one step ahead of him. Not too far away, but not too close.

They cross, walking at a normal pace. Noct occasionally glances up at the snowflakes that are starting to fall ever more thickly to the ground.

Prompto can only feel the blood rushing in his ears. He can't seem to focus on anything else.

He steels himself.

As Noctis yawns, stuffing his hands into his pockets, the red convertible skids around the bend in the road. Prompto realises, with rapid dread, how frightening it is when challenged head on. It comes without warning, like it's always done, and it's hurtling directly towards Noct. It shows no signs of slowing down.

He waits, and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He waits until it’s about ten metres away from them-

digs his feet into the ground-

and barrels into Noct, sending him sprawling all the way to the kerb.

“Wha-”

Prompto tries to close his eyes, because he knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to get out of the way, with the stunt he’s just pulled off. There’s no time, though, and all he sees is the blazing light of the headlights illuminating his form-

_"PROMPTO!”_

-and there’s a _thud_ \- dimly, he thinks it’s very near to where he is - before he’s thrown upwards.

Prompto feels wildly disconnected to his own body as he sails through the air. He tries to twist his limbs, but everything’s going too fast for him to even process the thought.

He tries to find Noct - he’s always trying to find Noct - but he falls to the floor with a sickening crunch, instead.

 

 

 

“Pr--pto! Wake -p! -leas--!”

_What…?_

It’s dark. The world’s a muddle. He can see… tall buildings? They reach high, high, high into the sky, with no end in sight. Prompto follows them up, until they disappear into the - white fluffy things? There are a lot of those white fluffy things in the sky.

Hang on. The white fluffy things aren't even white. They're more - grey? Black? He tries to look around for more of the fluffy things, but his eyes aren't cooperating.

He wills his eyes to move again. They don’t comply.

Sluggishly, he realises that he can’t hear any sound, and that his back’s pressed into the ground, slicked with an unfamiliar substance.

_What?_

“Prom---! --lease, you have to w-ke u-!”

Prompto thinks it's him that's being called. He tries to lift a hand, but his hands don't cooperate, either.

“I’m trying,” he whispers, except that nothing comes out of his mouth. His lips don’t move. He can’t even feel his vocal chords vibrate.

A dark shape moves into his field of vision. It’s blurry, and it takes too long for the shape to come into focus.

It’s Noct. Noct is calling him.

Prompto tries, really tries to move something, _anything,_ because Noct looks like he’s about to break down. He’s visibly shaking, and his eyes are shining, too.

Prompto realises he’s never seen Noct cry before. The mere thought of it impales him like a spear to the chest.

“Prompto, _please,_ wake up, please-”

He wants to scream that he’s trying, he’s _really trying,_ but his body’s just failing him again, like it always does -

“Please, don’t - this wasn’t supposed to happen - no, _please_ , don’t leave me - you _can’t_ \- _!”_

Noct cradles his cheeks with both hands. His voice is coming in gasps, now, and Prompto wants to hit himself, because, because - Noct’s alive, but he’s in so much _pain,_ and he never wanted Noct to hurt, ever -

When he gets no response, Noct pulls back, yanks out his phone and begins to dial. He’s clutching the device so hard that his fingers turn white.

“I-Ignis?” he croaks into the receiver. Prompto tries to listen in, but he can barely hear Noct as he is, let alone Ignis. Noct’s voice, too, is becoming quieter by the second, even though he’s sure that in reality, the prince’s tone is growing louder and more panicked. “Iggy, I - it’s Prompto, he was, he was hit by a c-car - I don’t know what to do, he’s not moving, and there’s blood everywhere-”

Blood? Is that what the sticky substance is? Come to think of it, there’s a drop of it hanging off a strand of his hair, too…

The blood drops onto his face, but Prompto doesn’t feel it. He tries to watch as it rolls down his cheeks, but soon enough even that becomes too tiring.

Prompto knows he’s not supposed to sleep. Sleep, in this instance, means that he might die.

Is this… what dying feels like?

His bones are so heavy. He can’t summon the energy to keep his eyes open, and it’s not as if he can use his hands to do the job, either.

Noct… Noct would be… If he died here…

Prompto can’t think of the word, exactly.

Noct would be _(he feels his eyelids flutter, ever so slightly, and once they’re closed all he can feel is relief)_ \- Noct would… feel…

The world really _is_ dark, now. Prompto can’t see the tall buildings, or the white fluffy things that cover them, anymore.

“No, I’ve already called the ambulance, he’s not responding to anything I’m saying, but- _PROMPTO!”_

Are those… hands on his face?

Prompto doesn’t know. The fog’s back, and it’s here to take him under, again. Oddly, the fog seems almost real, because the mugginess of it muffles his senses until his body relaxes. It's almost as if the tension he's been subjected to is released, like a comet across the sky.

“Prompto, no! Prom, please- don’t close your eyes! Please, you can’t - you can’t go, you can’t leave-”

Noct’s sobbing, and hands are scrabbling on his chest, fingers ripping his shirt apart.

“Don’t leave - you can’t leave me, I-”

As he lets himself fade to black, he wonders if the stars are still there, twinkling above the two of them.

 

* * *

 

****_This time, Prompto’s face to face with the woman. He’s not drifting anymore - his feet have touched upon ground, even if that ground still looks like empty, blue air._

_He can see her much more clearly. She does have long black hair, stretching down the back of an equally black gown. Stark white wraps trail from her arms, and Prompto notices that her eyes are closed._

_His throat is dry, so he swallows, trying to push some saliva down. His limbs feel stiff and sore, as if they haven’t been used for a while. It’s weird; his memory feels like someone’s smothered it with a blanket, and his legs and arms feel abnormally achy._

_It takes him a minute, but Prompto finally manages to figure out why he’s like this._

_“So, it didn’t work…”_

_Disappointment washes over him in crashing waves. He can still remember how distraught Noct was; how many glistening tear tracks there were on his cheeks; how his voice cracked and shattered near the end._

_Prompto gave up his life. If his life can’t save Noct, then…_

_He doesn’t want to think about the alternative._

_“You need not give your life in exchange for his own,” the woman tells him._

_Prompto looks up, weary. “You said I already have the power. I still don’t understand. What power do_ I _have?”_

_She looks him up and down - at least, that’s what he assumes she’s doing. “The destiny of the Chosen is not yet set in stone,” she continues, clasping her hands in front of her. “To let his life end now would bring hardship to all.”_

_“Then, can’t you save him?” Prompto pleads._

_She shakes her head, slowly, and Prompto’s spirits plummet. “An outside force meddles with his life. In my current form, I can only do this.” She spreads her arms around her, gesturing to the wisps of blue around them._

_No, no, no. There has to be another way. Prompto can’t fail Noct._

**"** _If you can’t do anything, then... what did you mean when you said I could already help him?” he probes, desperate._

_It still sounds fake to him, something made-up in order to give him hope when there is none._

_“You already know what it is, Prompto Argentum.” is the woman’s mysterious answer._

_"No - you can’t leave it at that! I really_ don’t _know, and I - I don’t want to watch Noct suffer, again. Please, help me.” He ducks his head._

_She’s silent for a long while. Prompto starts to think that he’s said something wrong, that he’s messed up Noct’s chances of escaping this torture for good. Then:_

_“If you so desire, I can give you a choice. If this arrangement of ours was to be dissolved, the vicious cycle of rebirth would end, as would your suffering. However-”_

_“Never.” Prompto bites out immediately. His voice is fierce. “I don’t care if it takes me twenty attempts or a million. I’m not letting Noct die.”_

_The woman pauses again, taking in the weight of his words. Prompto stares back, stubborn._

_Then, she smiles brilliantly, and opens her eyes. Dazedly, he notices that they’re an olive green shade._

_“You have answered your question yourself,” she says, gentle. “Love is a powerful thing. Human emotions have the beautiful ability to override countless forms of evil; some that even we cannot.”_

_“Love?” Prompto manages, his voice hoarse._

_Love. Does he love Noct?_

_For once in his life, Prompto doesn’t have to second-guess himself, because he knows the answer already._

_“What were the Prince’s last words to you, before you departed that world?”_

_The woman’s voice floats in the shell of his ear as he tries to recall. He closes his eyes, and tries to visualise the entire thing._

_He remembers his body going slack. He remembers wetness seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He remembers a voice, begging him to stay._

_Then it floods back to him, like a gushing waterfall._

“Don’t leave - you can’t leave me, I-”

_Noct had wanted to tell him something at his apartment, and it had been important. Noct sometimes blushed a dusty pink when Prompto caught his hand, even though Prompto would never realise it until afterwards. Noct sometimes cradled Prompto in his arms and held him to his chest, when he thought Prompto was asleep._

_Sometimes, Prompto thinks he’s misreading the signs, but…_

_“Love’s a powerful force, huh.” he says, quietly. The woman only smiles further._

_Prompto straightens. He doesn’t know what’s empowering him at this very moment: if it’s love, or the Astrals, or the very thought of Noct, or all three - but the warmth of it courses through his entire body, rejuvenating him from the inside._

_“I’m ready,” he tells her, his chin tilted upwards so he can look her directly in the eye._

_He thinks she approves, because she nods at him again, before raising one arm. There’s a rush of freezing air, which encircles them both, before Prompto feels the solid ground beneath him dissipate into nothing - and then he’s falling._

_He hopes it’s the last time he’ll ever experience the feeling._

 

* * *

 

****Prompto’s back on the bridge.

He stumbles a bit, before regaining balance and looking around. Unexpectedly, the sun is warm on his back, even though the breeze is as cold as ever.

There’s some phantom ice still lingering on his cheek. The air itself is… charged. The sensations that prickle and leap on the surface of his skin feel like electricity, and his body responds enthusiastically. He hasn’t felt this alive in _months._

Prompto pulls out his phone.

**CHAT: noctopus** \+ **quicksilverrr**

Saturday 3rd February, M.E. 753

**quicksilverrr [14:01]:** hey noct?

**quicksilverrr [14:01]:** d’you mind meeting me at the bridge?

**quicksilverrr {14:01]:** eastern one

**noctopus [14:02]:** urgg you want me to leave this warm couch??

**noctopus [14:02]:** fine

**noctopus [14:02]:** what for though?

**quicksilverrr [14:03]:** it’s important

**quicksilverrr [14:04]:** come asap

**quicksilverrr [14:04]:** please

**noctopus [14:05]:** prom?

**quicksilverrr** is offline

Prompto slips the phone into his pocket, and exhales, slowly.

_Love. Love. Love._ The words sounds in his head in a purposeful loop, coupled with the sound of his heartbeat.

All he can do now is wait.

 

 

Noct arrives much faster than Prompto thought he would.

It’s barely twenty minutes before Prompto catches sight of a humanoid form moving erratically in the distance. In the span of about twenty seconds, the form becomes clear enough for him to decipher its identity, and Prompto very quickly realises that it’s covering too much ground for a normal person to cover.

The figure disappears and reappears in a burst of crystal-blue shards, which can only mean-

“Agh!”

Prompto staggers back, nearly tripping over entirely, as Noct grips the front of his jacket.

“Are you okay?” Noct demands, frantic. His face is so close to Prompto’s that he can feel the hot breath on his lips.

“Y-Yeah? Noct, what’s going on?”

Slowly, Noct loosens his grip, before letting go entirely. He exhales, brings his arms up to wrap around himself, and looks away.

“When you sent that text, I - I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I - I thought-”

“Hey,” Prompto interjects, attempting to soothe the other boy. “Don’t worry. Nothing bad happened.”

Noct regards him silently, with an unreadable expression. Finally, he sighs.

"Just - don't scare me like that again, okay?" he mutters, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot.

Guilt creeps up on Prompto, but he quickly suppresses it, because in the end, he's doing this for Noct.

“Anyway. How come you dragged me all the way out here?"

It all comes down to this, doesn't it?

Prompto knows he's frozen when Noct starts to stare at him even more intently than before.

"Ah, well," he starts to say, but it comes out so quiet that it's more like a puff of air. He clears his throat, ready to try again, but finds that the words he's so desperately trying to say are doggedly sticking in his throat.

Damnit. Why can't he do this, when he knows what's at stake?

"Prom?" Noct asks softly.

It's funny, because in the end, it's Noct's voice that rekindles something inside him - just like all those years ago, in elementary school.

And now, here they are.

Noct's always been the one pushing him onward, even in his most desolate of times. It should be no surprise that Noct's the one encouraging Prompto here, too - even if he’s doing it subconsciously.

_Love._

He loves Noct. He knows this. It scares him, sometimes, when he lists off the things he'd willingly do for Noct, and finds that there aren't many things he wouldn't do.

_Love is a powerful thing,_ he remembers. The words stoke a fire he didn't know he had.

“I guess this is sudden, but I’ve been thinking about for it for a while. For ages, actually. So…”

Prompto takes a deep breath.

“I love you,” he says.

He can pinpoint exactly when Noct’s eyes widen, when his jaw drops slightly.

“I have, for a while.”

A silence follows: the worst silence Prompto’s ever been subjected to. Noct continues to stand there, completely still. His eyes are trained solely on Prompto, and it’s unclear whether he’s just shocked, or happy, or disappointed, or-

Prompto worries his lip. He’d been so sure, but now…

“Uhnf?” Noct stammers, eloquently.

They stare at each other for a while longer, until Prompto can’t help it. In an instant, he’s cackling, while Noct continues to splutter -  because _really,_ who knew that the Prince of Lucis was capable of stuttering like a complete goon?

The relief that spreads through him is almost palpable, and Prompto can’t stop laughing. He wants to sing, and shout into the distance, and hug Noct for an eternity. The fact that he can actually _do_ the last one, properly, makes him feel warmer than he’s ever felt.

“S-Shut up.” Noct mutters, half-heartedly, but he’s starting to smile. Prompto doesn’t stop his laughter, however, and continues to guffaw into his hand.

“Sorry, but - _Astrals,_ look at you - you look like Gladio after someone’s taken away his Cup Noodles-!”

Noct draws himself up in attempt to look smooth and put-together again. “Well, for what it’s worth... I feel the same way.”

And with certainty, Prompto realises that it’s this. This is what he’d been fighting for, all this time, and he’s never been so thankful before in his life.

It had been worth it. It had all been worth it.

“C’mere,” is the only affectionate warning he gives, before he pulls Noct forward into a crushing embrace.

Noct makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a squawk as Prompto settles his chin on top of his head. The jet-black strands tickle his nose, especially when the wind ruffles them as it blows. After a couple of seconds, Noct’s arms snake around his waist, and they stand there, swaying and content in their own little intimacy.

_Love._

As corny as it sounds, he thinks that this moment here is what love feels like.

Noct’s face is still buried in the crook of his neck, so Prompto tilts his chin up with one finger, before pressing his lips to his forehead. It’s a spontaneous move, and it pays off; Noct certainly never sees it coming, and lets out a little gasp.

Prompto pulls away, and finds that Noct’s eyes are shining.

“Dude,” he breathes, awestruck, “are you-?”

“‘Dude’, really, Prom? Way to ruin the mood,” Noct snorts, but he definitely rubs at his eyes a little. Prompto grins a little wider.

“So, I guess this means…?”

“Yeah,” Noct affirms, snuggling into Prompto again. “Dunno why we took so long. We could’ve been doing this for _ages._ ”

“Hey, not my fault you couldn’t pick up on my mega-pining signals.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m staring at you half the time, how could you _not_ pick that up?”

“Well, buddy, I’ll have you know that I once-”

They stay on that bridge for what seems like eons, wrapped in each other’s arms. 16:30 comes and goes, but by that time they’ve found a bench to curl up on together, watching from their own little spot as the snow drifts through the air.

 

 

 

 

When they get to that particular crossing, Prompto’s nervous again. This time, though, his fingers are intertwined with Noct, and it gives him strength.

They cross. There are no cars, speeding or otherwise. Neither of them end up on the floor, left to watch as the other slowly bleeds out before their very eyes.

They cross, and they get to the other side. The LED advert displays a time of 20:43 - the farthest Prompto’s ever gotten to on Saturday, the third of February.

Prompto’s so overjoyed that, once they get to the department store, he immediately turns around and quite literally tackles Noct to the ground.

“Wha- Prom, my _foot-!”_

Prompto simply holds Noct, as close to him as he possibly can. They probably look like complete fools, but he doesn’t care.

“Okay, so first I’m forced to do the most physical exercise I’ve done, that isn’t in a training hall. Then, my boyfriend rugby tackles me onto this _cold ass floor._ And now, those assholes have probably gotten about a thousand pictures for the tabloids, and Iggy’s gonna whip my ass when we get home.”

Prompto kind of stops listening after the word _boyfriend_. Noct integrates it into his language so fluidly, and all it does is make his heart squirm in a very pleasant way.

“Boyfriend?” he smiles, cupping the prince’s cheek.

“Well, yeah,” Noct drawls. “Unless you’d rather be, I don’t know, a sugar-”

“Boyfriends,” Prompto declares, before swooping in.

 

 

 

Prompto never truly figures out how he manages it. All he remembers is seeing Noct off to the Citadel ball, and feeling cold liquid run down his arms again. He doesn’t travel back to four o’clock, though; rather, he hears a murmur of approval from a distinctly female voice, fluttering through the air. Like ice shards shattering, it’s gone in an instant.

He learns that Noct had been planning to confess to him when he wanted to take him to his apartment. It’s sweet, really. There’s a trail of rose petals on the floor, leading to Noct’s bedroom. The bedroom itself has been suspiciously littered with flickering candles, accompanied by gentle background music.

Prompto’s sure that Ignis was in on it. Maybe Gladio, too, because who else could inspire others to leave a trail of _rose petals_ as a confession technique?

He’s grateful to them, though. He’s also grateful to the mysterious black-haired woman, although he never gets to thank her properly for what she’s done.

Prompto’s still in awe, sometimes, as to how someone like _him_ managed to drag Noct away from the brink of death. The perpetrators had been abnormally strong, and he thanks his lucky stars that he’d been born with abnormal stubbornness.

Sometimes, he wonders again, about who - or _what_ \- had tried to get rid of Noct. It’s scary, too, how they almost succeeded… but since they’ve up and left, Prompto tries to forget about it. It never works,  because the paranoia never really ends.

Now, though, he’s lying with Noct, under the covers. Noct’s bed is sublime - he’ll have to thank Ignis, again - and he thinks that there’s no place that feels quite like home like this does.

He stifles a yawn, and Noct shifts sleepily above him. Prompto hugs his boyfriend a little tighter, and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, and Noct does.

Right before he nods off, Prompto manages to glance at the clock on the bedside table. The world’s a bit blurry without his contact lenses, but he squints and makes do.

_Sunday, 4th February, 04:55._

_Good enough,_ he thinks, a small smile gracing his lips as he falls into slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> plot twist: it was Ardyn's car.
> 
> holy moly, that got a bit Harry Potter there, didn't it? always remember the green cross code, friends!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! Halfway through writing this, I realised that angst _really_ isn't my forte, haha. But hey, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone, so I'm happy about that. :')
> 
> Comments fuel me, like how gas fuels the Regalia. ;)
> 
> Feel free to holla at me over on my [tumblr!](https://whimsofffate.tumblr.com)


End file.
